


Go Down Together

by PBWritesStuff



Category: John Wick (Movies)
Genre: I'm posting all my quarantine fics at once, M/M, Slow To Update, so here ya go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:49:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27532540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PBWritesStuff/pseuds/PBWritesStuff
Summary: When he gets the call about a fire at the little Eastern Orthodox church they use as a front, that's when Avi knows. It all ends tonight, and there is no happy ending for people like them. If they're going down, they go down together, and that's why he asks for the gun.(Or, ten moments in Avi's life that led up to John Wick)
Relationships: Avi/Viggo Tarasov
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	1. Chapter 1

**I**

  
When they first met, Avi felt like he'd gone to college again. This was a man with a vastly different background, a man who grew up in a totally different life, and he keenly felt the culture shock. Something about his tattoos drew the eye, and Avi had to try hard not to stare.  
  
Somehow, Viggo knew what he was thinking, and instead of being insulted, he smirked, and the blue cigarette smoke curled out of his mouth and reached skyward, pooling at the ceiling of the room like a cloud.  
  
"I got these in the gulag," Viggo explained, pointing out each little symbol and creature sprawled across his knuckles. "See this spider? He's looking upward - I'm an active _vor_ , still in the lifestyle."  
  
Avi had seen the spider. It was the first thing he'd noticed, a huge black sprawling thing on the back of Viggo's hand.  
  
"And this eight-pointed star?" The older man grinned, pulling back the sleeve of his shirt to reveal the shoulder. "This is my status as a leader in the organization. It's part of why my men respect me. You can't be a leader in the _bratva_ if you haven't served time and earned your tattoos."  
  
Suddenly, with a lurch of hope, Avi realized why he was there.  
  
Two years ago, he'd been caught up in shady dealings with his law firm, and ended up serving time for it. He did surprisingly well in prison, and mostly kept his nose clean so he could serve his time as quickly as possible. And after he'd gotten out, the legal community had wanted nothing to do with him. He'd gone from a rising star in the courtroom to a nobody in what felt like no time at all. All that work, those long hours and that absolute loyalty, for nothing.  
  
Viggo smiled.  
  
"I have heard of your prowess in the legal arena, and I'm here to offer you a very lucrative deal." He took another long drag from his cigarette. They made eye contact, and something inside of Avi tightened up like a coil.  
  
"Come work _exclusively_ for me, and as long as you do your job, I'll make sure you get paid."  
  
"I'm not Russian." Avi retorted, and frowned. He had no doubts about the truth of Viggo's offer, but if the other members of the organization looked down on him, he'd always have to watch his back - he'd always have to sleep with one eye open.  
  
Tarasov rolled his eyes.  
  
"Of course you aren't. But you have _talent_ , and you won't find it hard to prove your worth, especially since you'll be coming in as a specialist. A _reshala_." He turned toward Kirill, who stood, ghost-like, in the corner. "What's the word in English?'  
  
"Ah, I believe it is 'solver', sir." The bodyguard frowned.  
  
There was something in the slow power inherent in Viggo's hands as he stubbed out his cigarette that made Avi feel light-headed. He ground out the ashes into a crystal ashtray, and the former lawyer followed the lines of Viggo's arm from the tray to the man's shoulders. He must be pushing forty now, at least, and still so damn strong.  
  
"Not to mention," Viggo began in a low baritone, leaning over the table with his hands folded carefully. "We all _know_ how you left the firm, Mr. Rosenthal."  
  
Avi swallowed, and gritted his teeth.  
  
"You have a gift in the courtroom. You could have easily talked your way out of the prison sentence." Viggo said it without accusation, merely as a fact (which it was), and that made Avi relax a little. He'd felt so stupid for taking the fall, but his mentor was the one responsible for the crime, and he wasn't going to throw the man under the bus for something they both got involved in.   
  
He felt considerably less good-will when he got out of jail and he'd been _replaced_ in the firm.  
  
"Loyalty like that should be rewarded, _Da_?" The man continued, and smirked, raising an eyebrow, almost like an invitation.  
  
"You're damn right, Mr. Tarasov." Avi replied, and extended his hand. The other man shook it, and the callouses on his palms were like braille, a textured story for those with the knowledge to read it.  
  
"Please, call me Viggo." Tarasov smiled, and it was the smile of a predator.  
  
Avi didn't mind.


	2. Chapter 2

**II**

  
An uneasy alliance, Avi thought. That was how to best describe his work with Viggo Taravsov. The man trusted him because he'd served time, and that was how the old guard of the Russian mafia built connections. After he'd worked with the organization for a while, Avi had been surprised to find out that Viggo hadn't just plucked him up out of the blue like a daisy - he'd been recommended by his former cellmate, a giant of a man called _Francis_ , of all things. He'd never even known the guy was with the mob, but once he got out, he'd given Tarasov the tip that led Avi to the place he was now.  
  
And it was, surprisingly, even nicer than his corner office at the old firm. If there was one thing Viggo and Avi could have in common, it was an appreciation for the finer things in life. His new base of operations had a beautiful view over the Hudson River, and a fully stocked mini-bar.   
  
Fucking Cuban cigars and fine aged Macallan Whiskey.  
  
If he'd known it was this good, Avi would have come to work for the mob ages ago.  
  
The night he'd gotten the contract settled with Viggo was the best he'd had since getting out of prison. They drank at the Continental bar, then at the lounge below ground floor, and then they'd had a wild tour of the Manhattan night life. They'd gotten absolutely wasted, all except for the entourage who was assigned to keep them safe throughout the night. Avi recalled looking over the haze of dancers and the smoke and alcohol, and meeting Kirill's eyes, terrible and sober.  
  
Then, when he collapsed into bed in the small hours of the morning, he slept like the dead.  
  
Working for Tarasov was easy, emotionally; and challenging, professionally. The cases he had to handle were unique, and like most unusual problems, they required intelligent solutions. These were the kind of cases that never came to the ivory tower law firm he'd once called home.  
  
(The way to bribe a police officer without making it _seem_ like a bribe was a goddamn _art-form._ )  
  
Eventually, he worked his way up, and people started taking notice. No more icy stares from associates in the hallowed halls of the office they used as a front. He'd never feared for his life, working here, but for the first time, Avi started to feel welcomed instead of merely tolerated.  
  
It was... Nice.  
  
He had to keep reminding himself that it was just a job, and that these people weren't really his friends. Kirill didn't actually care about him, and Francis watched his back in prison because he knew Avi could be an asset. Most importantly, when Viggo gave him that _look_ , eyes half-lidded and smouldering, it certainly couldn't mean what Avi thought it meant.


End file.
